


On the Other Side

by flipflop_diva



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Cutting, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Natasha Feels, Natasha Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Protective Steve, Self-Harm, Spanking, Steve Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve thought nothing could scare him more than the thought of Bruce Banner taking Natasha away from him forever. And then he found Natasha holding a knife to her wrist. And then she told him a secret and asked for a favor. But some favors are harder to give than others, even when it's for the woman you're falling in love with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading, I just want to say that posting this is making me really nervous. I've never written anything like it, but I wanted to challenge myself. However, I'm a bit worried for people to read it. This fic has a lot of dark undertones, and the dom/sub relationship portrayed is not very healthy, although in the context of the fic, it was never intended to be. I do hope I portrayed what the characters are going through in a sensitive way, though, because I love these two, and I hope that it's not totally super far from realistic. I'm anxious and curious to know what you think!
> 
> (Note 2: I realized just yesterday that the end part had a few errors in it, so I am fixing those and will post the remaining chapters hopefully soon, but I didn't want to leave something up I wasn't proud of. But working on them now! Please be patient!)

**[PART ONE]**

The only thing he could think about was getting Natasha to safety.

It was stupid, he knew. The rational, logical part of his brain knew that. They were about to face off against a murderous robot that had come to life and was planning to take over the world. There were thousands of innocent people whose lives were in danger and needed their help. There was a team of dysfunctional superheroes who were looking at him to lead them so they could do what they do best — save the world. 

But the only thing he could think of, standing there, his eyes boring into Bruce’s, was making sure that Natasha was safe. 

And alive.

“Give her to me,” Steve said to Banner, his voice sounding calm, commanding, even to his own ears. Like a leader, he thought. No trace of any of the fear or the panic that he could feel racing inside him.

She looked so small, cradled in Bruce’s arms, braced against his chest. So pale. He could see the dried blood on her face, on her hands, on her legs. Her uniform was torn, shredded in places. Her right leg was positioned at an awkward angle. He would be shocked if it wasn’t broken. She wasn’t conscious, but she wasn’t completely unconscious either. Every few seconds, she would moan, a low, horrible sound that shot straight into Steve’s heart.

They had to get her out of here, away from Ultron’s lair, before someone — or something — came after them. They had to get her somewhere safe where they could assess how seriously she was injured, where they could tend to her wounds, where they could try to wake her up.

They had to get her somewhere where they — where _he_ — could make sure she was going to be okay, where he could make sure she was going to _live_. And then he could go _kill_ Ultron for hurting her.

But first …

“Give her to me,” Steve repeated.

He watched as Bruce very subtly tucked her closer to his chest. Natasha moaned again, this time ending with a very slight whimper.

“No,” Bruce said, his voice strangely tense. “I’m going to take her with me.”

“Take her where?”

“She doesn’t want this.”

Steve stared at him in confusion. “She doesn’t want what?”

“This,” Bruce said, like it was all that simple. “This life. Being an Avenger.”

Steve felt a stab of pain through his heart. He knew that Natasha had been confiding in Bruce, he knew she had been flirting with him, but …

No, this wasn’t the time to figure this out.

He shook his head. “Look,” he said, “whatever you and Natasha talked about, you can talk about it again when she’s _awake_ , but right now you need to _give her to me_. There is a fight waiting right outside this compound, and we need to go. I can get her somewhere safe.”

Bruce took a step backward. “I’m not fighting.”

The voice that spoke next was not Steve’s. 

“The hell you aren’t.”

Steve turned around to find Clint standing next to him, arrow notched and pointed at Bruce.

“Where did you come from?” Steve asked Clint as Bruce took another step backward. 

“You won’t shoot me,” Bruce said. He adjusted Natasha slightly, like she was his shield.

Clint didn’t lower his arrow. “Give her to Steve,” he ordered. “He’s stronger and faster. He can get her out of here before we can.”

“I’m telling you,” Bruce said, “She doesn’t want this. I can take her away from everything. She asked me to.”

“Well, she can ask you to again when she’s conscious,” Clint said. He shot a look at Steve. “Count of three?” he said.

Steve shook his head. “We aren’t fighting each other.” He looked imploringly at Bruce. “Look,” he said, “I know you two have gotten closer, and I know you just want to protect her. We-“ He gestured to himself and Clint — “want to protect her, too. We’re all her friends. We all care about her. We all love her.” He paused there, his breath catching slightly in his throat, a sudden image of Bruce taking her away and never getting to see her again filling his thoughts. He trudged on. “But right now, we need to make sure she’s safe and she’s okay. I’m telling you, it’s a _war_ out there. How do you think you’re going to get away from here without turning into the other guy? And if you turn into the other guy to get away, are you absolutely, positively _sure_ you won’t accidentally hurt her even more? She’s not awake. She can’t bring you back now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Clint shift his bow, still pointing it toward Bruce. In front of him, Bruce seemed to deflate a little.

Steve watched as Banner shifted his eyes down to look at Natasha, as though he were studying her, weighing Steve’s words against whatever Natasha might have said to him in the past. Finally, he looked back up.

“You swear you will keep her safe?” he said quietly. “That you’ll protect her? And when she wakes up, that you’ll let her choose? That you won’t make her fight again if she doesn’t want to?”

Steve took a breath, his nerves on edge. So close to getting Natasha back …

“I will never make her do anything she doesn’t want to do,” Steve said quietly, his voice deadly serious. He looked Bruce in the eye and prayed the other man believed him. “And I swear on my life I will keep her safe.”

Steve’s words hung in the air. No one said anything. No one moved. Then Natasha moaned again, and Bruce stepped forward, one tiny bit of motion made toward Steve.

Steve didn’t wait. He sped over to Bruce, slipped Natasha out of Bruce’s arms and into his own, bracing her against his chest as he hooked his shield underneath her, much the same way he carried her out of the bunker explosion all those months before.

“Please take care of her,” Bruce said. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“With my life,” Steve said. He backed up quickly then, toward the hall that led to the exit that led back to the world. He saw Banner turn to walk in the opposite direction.

“Now,” Steve said to Clint, just before he dashed back down the hall.

He didn’t see the arrow fly, but he heard the angry howl of rage coming from a green monster just as he burst out into the open air. He took a moment for the wave of guilt to wash over him, but then his eye caught a robot in the distance, Natasha stirred in his arms and he knew there had never been any other choice.


	2. Chapter 2

Maria was the only one with her in the medical bay of the helicarrier. Natasha was covered in what seemed to be a pile of blankets, but none of them could hide the wires that were attached to her hands and her arms and her chest, hooking her up to an array of machines that beeped quietly in the background.

Natasha’s eyes were closed, but Steve could see her chest rising and falling in a steady pattern.

Maria turned around from where she had been studying something on one of the monitors to smile sadly at Steve.

“She became really agitated when the doctors tried to examine her — they thought she might seriously hurt someone. Or herself — so they sedated her,” Maria told Steve, her voice low but steady. “Dr. Fine said the medication should have worn off by now, but she hasn’t woken up yet. He thinks it’s probably a combination of exhaustion and dehydration.”

Steve shifted his eyes back to Natasha. The blankets covered most of her, but he could see the mottled bruises on her hands and arms and on her neck and along her jawline. He also remembered the blood on his shield when he had slipped her off it and laid her on the ground of an abandoned house, ordering Wanda to stay with her until Tony or Rhodey or someone could get her to one of the helicopters.

He’d spent the entire time he was rescuing citizens of Sokovia worried that he’d been too late, that they were all going to die, Natasha too, almost convinced he should have let Bruce take her away, because at least she would live. But Fury had shown up, with Maria and the helicarrier, and Pietro had carried her to one of transport ships.

It had been a relief to know that someone was taking care of her — “We have her,” Fury had said over the comms once she’d been handed off to medical — but it hadn’t eased all of Steve’s nerves. Plus with the falling city and Ultron’s attack and watching Pietro die … All Steve had wanted to do was see her for himself, make sure she really was breathing.

He looked up at Maria now. “And?” he said.

Maria sighed. She glanced at Natasha before looking back at Steve, meeting his eyes directly. “Her right tibia is fractured. A few fractured ribs. A couple broken fingers.” She paused to take a breath. “The doctors think she was tortured. Probably drugged.”

Steve let his eyes fall close, ran a hand through his hair. He felt his stomach drop almost to the ground. He had suspected it, when he had seen her, but to hear Maria say it …

He opened his eyes again, glanced at Natasha and whispered, “Was she …?” He couldn’t say the words. 

Maria shook her head. “Sexually assaulted? The doctors aren’t sure. Only Natasha knows.”

Steve smiled wryly. “And she will never say,” he said.

“I know,” Maria said. “But she’s alive. She’s going to be okay.”

“We should have found her earlier. We should have done more.”

“You did everything you could have.”

“Did we?” Steve shook his head. “Because I don’t think we did. Clint told me she was missing, and I did _nothing_.”

“You were saving innocent civilians from being killed by a flying train.”

“I told Clint to go back to the Tower.”

“He couldn’t have caught up to Ultron. No one saw him take her.”

“We sat around and wasted time while Ultron _tortured_ her, _beat_ her, maybe _raped_ her.”

“Steve ….” 

He turned away, from Maria and Natasha, sucked in a lungful of air. If only he’d told Clint to go find Nat, if only someone had gone to search for her the second they knew she was missing, if only ….

“We brought Vision to life and played with Thor’s hammer and took a nap, and she almost died. I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself for that. How do I ask her to?”

“You don’t,” Maria answered. “This is Natasha. She won’t blame you for any of this. She knows you wouldn’t purposely hurt her.”

“Didn’t I?”

“Did you?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know.” And that was the problem. He didn’t know. Natasha was his friend. At one point, he thought she was maybe his best friend. Then at another point he thought maybe she was more than a friend altogether. But things had changed between them when they moved into Avengers Tower, and not for the better. She was distant, he was too focused on work. He missed her, but he couldn’t tell her. If she missed him, she hid it well. 

At one point, he thought he almost resented her. The way he watched her talk to Clint and laugh with him, the way he saw her flirt with Bruce — the same way she used to do with him, even if he lied to Bruce and said it wasn’t. Maybe there was some part of him that did want her to be hurt, that did want her to miss him, that did want her to need him …

But not this. Not what had happened. If he could do it again, if he could do it all again …

“I think it’s my fault,” he whispered, and he felt the shame of everything wash over him. 

Maria placed a warm hand on his arm. “It’s not,” she said. “And you’re here now. Just stay with her. She’s going to need you.”

Steve wasn’t sure about that last part, but he nodded. After everything, a squadron of flying robots wasn’t going to make him leave her side.

•••

It took sixteen hours after they arrived back at Avengers Tower (after arranging a transfer from a hidden base in upstate New York, the only place to land the helicarrier without attracting too much unwanted attention) for Natasha to open her eyes. Steve was the only one with her, sitting by her side and holding her hand in his, as if that could make up for everything that had gone wrong, when she did.

Clint had wanted to be, but Laura and the kids needed him, and Steve had promised, promised on his life, he would call him as soon Natasha opened her eyes. The doctors all said she was fine. She just needed to rest and recover.

The other Tower occupants were sleeping, or pretending to sleep, or just leaving Steve alone, he wasn’t sure which. And Maria and Fury were getting things together for the next step in all their lives.

But Steve hadn’t had much time to think about that, not apart from some tentative discussions with Sam and Rhodey and Wanda and Vision. All he cared about was Natasha and apologizing to her for his role in everything.

She awoke like she always did, one second sleeping peacefully and the next eyes wide open, peering around intently. Steve had a feeling she’d been awake for a little while, assessing everything thoroughly before opening her eyes, because she didn’t seem surprised to be in the medical ward at the tower or to have an IV in her arm or a cast on her leg or to even have Steve holding her hand.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he said quietly, as he watched her eyes roam the room, taking everything in. Finally she settled them back on him, her lips curving up.

“Hey stranger.”

“Welcome back. You scared us. You scared _me_.”

“I don’t remember much.” She shrugged at that, and then winced slightly in pain. The smile faded from her face. “What happened?” He knew she didn’t mean to her.

“We got him,” he told her. “It was a bit of a team effort. Wanda — the witch — and her brother, they helped. And Vision. Who is JARVIS maybe, sort of, I’m not sure.”

Natasha frowned, then shifted a little, like she was trying to get comfortable. 

“You missed a little bit,” Steve told her softly. “We’ll explain it all to you when you’re feeling better.” He also knew he’d have to tell her about Bruce, about him leaving. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her how Bruce had tried to take her, too, but she deserved to know.

“I feel fine,” she said, but then she winced again. Steve squeezed her hand.

“The doctors said you went through a lot.”

“I don’t really remember.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Natasha shook her head. Suddenly her mask she always wore seemed to fall. For a second, all her emotions shown through on her face — fear, vulnerability, insecurity. She looked so small, so young, lying against the white pillow, her red hair suddenly too garish in contrast again her pale skin. Steve wanted to pull her against him, to hold her close, but instead he waited for her to speak.

“I should have been there,” was what she finally said, her voice soft and not much more than a breath.

“You helped a lot, Nat,” Steve said. “You led us to Ultron. Do you remember using your bites to communicate with us? And you got the cradle back. Things would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t.”

“I let him take me …”

“You didn’t _let_ him do anything.”

“I failed.”

“No! Natasha.” Steve’s fingers tightened around her hand, as if he could prove to her by his grip that what she was saying made no sense. “You didn’t. You didn’t fail.”

“You said taking him down was a team effort.”

“Including you.”

“No.” She shook her head, her red curls swishing around her face. She still looked so unsure. “That isn’t what you meant.”

Okay, she was right. It hadn’t been what he meant, but he hadn’t realized she would blame herself, not when he was blaming himself …

He lifted his free hand to her face, brushed the back of his knuckles tenderly against her cheek. She flinched, but she didn’t move her head away.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated. “We’re the ones that let you down. Not the other way around. Okay? I promise.”

He thought she might make a joke — hoped really that she would — about him being a bad liar or being too old to understand, but she didn’t. She just closed her eyes. He kept his fingers against her cheek and his other hand holding hers long after she fell back asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

  
**[PART TWO]**   
_Four months later_   


This was probably one of the more stupid things he had done in his life. He knew that. The rational part of his brain completely knew that.

The others were right — he should leave things alone. If something were wrong, she’d handle it. If she wanted them to know, she’d tell them. Standing here now, all he was doing was risking her wrath, and more than that, her trust. It had taken so damn long to build it up, and he knew he was about to throw it away in a second over something stupid.

Except he couldn’t help the feeling in his gut that it _wasn’t_ stupid, no matter what anyone else said, and he knew he would never forgive himself if something was really wrong and he had stood aside and did nothing. He had done that once before, and he had sworn to himself that he would never, ever, ever do that again.

It had taken Natasha a long time to fully recover. Even now, he wasn’t convinced she really was. They’d all had a meeting, current and future Avengers, the second day after she had woken up for the first time at the Tower. Thor was going back to Asgard, but everyone had known that, had known it since they were at Clint and Laura’s. Clint had to go back for the baby. Bruce was gone (Steve had told Natasha about that the second time she had woken up. She’d only stared at him and nodded. He’d let Clint tell her about Bruce wanting to take her with him, but Steve hadn’t asked how that conversation went. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.) Tony wanted a break, wanted to spend time with Pepper, wanted to not be worrying about saving the world.

Steve got that. Tony had a lot of guilt to deal with, over Ultron and JARVIS. And it wasn’t like he was ever that far away.

But Natasha …

Steve had meant what he said to Bruce, that he would never make her do anything she didn’t want to do, that he would give her a choice whether she wanted to keep fighting. But the thought that she would say no, that would she would choose to go off on her own, the way she did after SHIELD fell, it sent waves of panic throughout his body that he didn’t like to think about.

She hadn’t said no, though. She’d said okay, and when Steve had asked her to be his second-in-command because there was no else he would rather be watching his back then her, she had smiled.

“Are you sure about?” she’d asked. 

He’d nodded at her. “Absolutely. There is no one else I’d rather have.”

“I hope you don’t regret that,” she’d said, elbowing him in the side, but he would have sworn her smile grew just a little bigger. 

It wasn’t that easy though. Some days she seemed fine, training the others like she was born to do it, but other days she seemed haunted, and he could tell her injuries still bothered her. She wasn’t quite as fast in sparring as she was before Ultron, and he knew she was frustrated that the others could beat her more often than not.

But it was natural, everyone said, and she’d deal with it. Except Steve couldn’t accept that, and after today, he really couldn’t accept that.

So here he was, standing outside Natasha’s door at the bunker, seconds away from begging Edwin, the new JARVIS Tony had helped install, to help him, analyzing and re-analyzing every action and reaction from the past few weeks.

He was pretty confident she had been trying to ask him something for the last few days. He couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he had turned around to find her standing there, just looking at him, like she was trying determine whether it was safe. A few times she even went so far as to open her mouth, like she was going to say something, but she never did. Instead, she would catch his eye, and then she would turn around and disappear.

He was used to Natasha disappearing on him. She had a habit of appearing and then vanishing when you least expected it, but this was different. She seemed almost tense, antsy, and her disappearing act felt more like she was hiding than she was simply choosing that moment to leave.

It felt off to him. As did her behavior in general the past month or two, but more especially the last couple weeks. She was definitely the most mysterious of the group of them, the most secretive, the most guarded. She always had been. Even with the original Avengers crew. But back when she had first moved into the Tower, around the same time he did, both of them a couple months after Clint and many months after Bruce, she had almost seemed to relax a little, to loosen up. She was almost the same flirty, snarky woman who he’d been partnered with for a year, the one who liked to tease him and set him up on dates and scold him when she thought he was being too super serious. 

She’d hung out with them and joined in on dinners or team movie nights. She teased them and sometimes laughed. He’d thought she’d be like that here at the bunker, with the new group, especially since she was his second. And she had been a little at first. He gave her credit for that. She’d ate with them and tried to talk to them, and he’d found her taking everything Sam and Rhodey had fro them at games of poker.

But lately, she was quiet — too quiet, almost withdrawn. After their most recent missions to try and shut down the last of the Hydra bases they knew about, thanks to tips from Maria, they’d all come home and gather in the common room, but Natasha would disappear. Sometimes they wouldn’t see her for a couple days after. Steve was beginning to worry.

And then there was today. The mission had gone horribly wrong. Tony (who somehow was never actually not working with them) had given the intel to Maria to pass on. He had sworn it was good, but it wasn’t, and instead of just a couple Hydra double agents, it was also an encampment of civilians being held hostage. The firefight had left a few dead, and then Sam had been injured. Nothing major, but a fall off a roof had left him unconscious for a few moments and with a lot of ugly bruises. 

The team, and even Maria, had fussed over him on the jet and back at the bunker — or well, the rest of the team had anyway. Natasha had stayed far away from him on the plane, like she was afraid to get close, and as soon as they had landed, she had disappeared, without even a glance back at the injured man who was arguably someone she actually would call a friend.

“None of you think she’s acting weird?” Sam had said to them, after he was checked out by the team doctor and officially declared just fine.

Rhodey shrugged. “It’s Natasha. She doesn’t do emotions. According to Tony.”

“She doesn’t do ‘Hey, are you okay?’s either?” Sam sounded a little bitter. “She didn’t used to be so self-centered.”

“She’s never asked me if I’m okay,” Rhodey said.

“Something’s wrong,” Steve said, backing up Sam. “She’s acting weird.”

“She’s been through a lot. I’m sure she’s fine,” Wanda said. “Wouldn’t she tell us if something were wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Steve mused. “I’m not actually sure she would.”

“She would,” Maria said. “She’d tell us if it was something she couldn’t handle.”

Steve still wasn’t sure. On one hand, he knew Maria had known her for far longer than he had, and she should know, but on the other, he just had a sense that this was more than Natasha being Natasha. But the others had moved on to other topics of conversation, and even Sam didn’t seem super bothered by it, but Steve hadn’t forgotten it. And the first chance he had to slip away, he took.

Which lead him to here, the hallway on Natasha’s floor, outside her door. 

It was now or never.

He knocked. “Natasha? It’s Steve. Can I come in?”

There was no answer. There wasn’t even the sound of movement. He knocked again, louder. “Natasha?”

Still nothing. A sudden sense of panic settled in Steve’s gut. He looked upward.

“Edwin,” he said, “Is Agent Romanoff in her room?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” came the response. 

“Can you let me in?”

“She’s ordered me not to let anyone in unless she gives permission.”

“Will she give me permission?”

There was a pause. “She’s not responding.”

“She’s not responding?” The panic in his gut exploded into full-blown fear. “Why not?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say, Sir.”

“Why can’t you say?”

“She’s ordered me not to tell people what she’s doing unless she gives permission.”

Steve growled in frustration, but the worry didn’t ease. “Is she asleep?”

There was another pause, this one almost like the AI was trying to figure out if that would be breaking some sort of rule, but Steve didn’t need him to answer. Natasha was the lightest sleeper he’d ever met. A creak on the floor would wake her up. There was no way she wouldn’t respond to something talking to her. 

Steve clenched his hands. The fear was about to swallow him whole, but he forced himself to think. He could try just breaking down the door, but for starters, he didn’t think that would actually be possible because Tony had designed every part of the bunker to not be easily broken by crazy superpowered humans, not to mention the fact that if, for some reason, he was able to do that, he wasn’t sure that was actually worth the wrath of both Tony and Natasha (Tony might not live there, but he was certainly possessive over the things he paid for).

But maybe there was another way.

“Edwin?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“As team leader, I still have the emergency powers that Tony gave me to override all other orders, do I not?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers, you do.”

“And those emergency powers — as long as it’s a true emergency — would override any orders given to you by Maria, Fury or Agent Romanoff?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Then Edwin, I need you to tell me if Agent Romanoff is in trouble.”

“Sir …”

“I’m not asking you to tell me what she’s doing,” Steve said quickly. “I’m asking you to tell me if there is some danger to Agent Romanoff’s life.”

Another moment of silence. “I believe, sir, that it could be construed that way.”

Steve almost fell over as a new wave of fear rushed over him, a fear so intense he almost couldn’t think through it. 

“Please tell me she’s alive.” His voice sounded strangled, desperate.

“Of course, she is, Sir.”

Air rushed back into his lungs. The fear abated just slightly. “She’s conscious?”

“Yes, Sir.”

What the hell was happening? The fear abated a slight more. 

“Edwin, let me in. As team leader, I am ordering you to let me in because of emergency protocol.”

A pause that seemed to last an eternity, and then ….

“Yes, Sir.”

Steve heard a click. He grabbed the door handle and twisted, relief and fear flooding through him as he let himself inside.

“Natasha?!?!”

There was no answer. He sped down through the living room, down the short hallway, shoving open the door to the bedroom without even bothering to knock. She could kill him later if she needed to. He stared around, wildly. The bed was unmade, her pistols and widow’s bites lying right in the middle, but where was Natasha? 

He spun around and gasped, actually feeling the color drain from his face.

“Natasha,” he whispered, and his heart leapt into his throat.

She was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, her legs pulled up to her chest. Her hair was tousled, she was covered in dirt and she was staring — at him, at nothing, he wasn’t sure — with a vacant expression in her eyes. Her left arm was stretched out, palm up, across her knees, a knife clutched in her fist. But none of that broke his heart.

What broke his heart was the knife she had clutched in her right hand, the knife she was holding just a bare centimeter above her left wrist.

“Natasha,” he whispered again. Fear buzzed through him, but almost immediately it was followed by a slight sense of calm. Training kicked in. He crept closer to her, repeating her name over and over again.

Finally, just as he was about to cross the threshold of the bathroom, she blinked. For a second, fear and pain flashed across her face, naked emotion more visible than almost anything he had seen from her before, even more so than what she had shown him when she woke up after they’d gotten her away from Ultron, but as quick as it came, it left, leaving behind a scowl. Her eyes narrowed. 

“How did you get in here?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he took the last two steps toward her, reaching down and yanking the knives easily out of her hands, tossing them behind him on to the ground. 

“I asked you a question,” she said, but she didn’t make any move to go retrieve the knives or even to knock him senseless. He decided to risk it, and reached out to grab her left arm, quickly yanking the long sleeve of her black hoodie up to her elbow.

It was both better and worse than he feared. The scars were mostly healed, five pale red lines across her milky skin. He’d almost expected there to be more; he’d hoped that maybe he was wrong and there weren’t any.

He quickly grabbed her other arm, yanked that sleeve up. Two lines there, but these were redder, angrier. Newer.

He looked up and met her eyes. She didn’t try to look away.

“Anywhere else?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Don’t lie to me.”

She held his gaze. Then slowly she pulled her hand out of his grip and reached for the bottom of her sweatshirt, lifting it slowly. Just above the scar she had shown him for the first time more than a year ago, the scar Bucky had left her with, was a new scar, pinker than the ones on her left arm, lighter than the ones on her right.

“That was an accident,” she said. She didn’t elaborate.

He forced his eyes back up, to focus again on hers. “How long?” he asked her, even though he could guess. She hadn’t had them when the doctors had examined her after Ultron.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she brought a hand up and pressed it against his cheek. “I want you to fuck me,” she said. She phrased it like a command, but he didn’t miss the way her voice lilted right at the end, as if she were asking a question.

He stared at her, not sure if he heard her right, then he shook his head. “What? Natasha. Don’t change the subject.”

“I want you to fuck me,” she repeated, and her voice was as calm and steady as it was the first time she’d said it. “Fuck me and I’ll answer your question.”

“That’s not exactly-” but he didn’t have time to finish the sentence before both her hands were clasping his face and her lips were against his, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth, her unexpected motion knocking him backward onto his back on the ground, Natasha somehow ending up perched on his chest.

Every part of his body, and his brain, screamed that this was wrong. He reached down to take hold of her waist, to pull her off of him, but before he could, she pulled back, just a touch, but enough that he could see her eyes. 

“ _Please_ ,” she whispered, and even though his brain screamed at him that it was probably a trick, that she was just trying to manipulate him, the raw vulnerability in her voice, and in her eyes, sent an avalanche of guilt ripping through his chest and his gut.

Whatever was wrong, whatever was going on, she needed him. She was hurting. She was in pain. He needed to help her. He hadn’t helped her fast enough the last time, and Ultron had almost killed her. But now she was asking him, actually asking him, and who was he to judge how she asked to be healed? Who was he to decide if what she said she needed was really what she needed?

He didn’t have time to clarify the rest of his thoughts. She was kissing him again, her hands moving up to his hair, tugging on it a little. 

“Please,” she kept murmuring, “please,” and she sounded so desperate, so broken, he thought he probably would have given her anything she asked for right then.

Against his better judgment, he gave in. His hands found her waist, flipping them both over so she was underneath. Her arms latched around his neck, her teeth bit at his lower lip, her legs wrapped around his waist. 

He snaked one arm under her back and pushed himself to his feet, Natasha clinging to him. He walked them both back into the bedroom, dumped her on the bed, moved the pistols and her widow’s bites to the floor. By the time he was done, she had already managed to shed her clothes. 

She climbed to her knees, pushed herself against him as he stood at the end of the bed, her breasts pressing into his chest, her lips once more fastening themselves to his. Her breaths were faster than normal, almost desperate, and he felt the guilt flood through him again.

But he didn’t stop. The fear, the panic, the anger, the confusion — it was all rushing through him. He grabbed her hips, pushed her away from him, knocking her down on to her back. He yanked her legs apart, shoved a hand between them, felt how wet she was already.

He didn’t think about that, about how this whole messed up situation could have turned her on. Instead, he slipped a finger inside without warning, and felt a strange sense of satisfaction when she cried out. Her hands reached out to grab his wrists, and he felt her nails dig in. 

He thrust a second finger into her, moved his hand harder and faster. She whimpered, rocking her hips against him.

“More,” she moaned. “Please.”

He’d had sex with her before — three times actually — but it was different this time. All the other times had been strictly physical, a release, a way to get past the horror of their situations and just find a moment of peace (at least that is what he had told himself, every single time). The night before they took down Hydra, the night before Natasha testified in front of Congress, the night she snuck through his window and almost gave him a heart attack before she told him she was thinking of taking Tony up on his offer to move into the Tower and he told her he already had. Those times were about mutual comfort and nothing more. No expectations, no regrets, no mornings after.

This time was more raw, more desperate, fueled by emotion and something he couldn’t quite grasp. This time, even as he slipped inside her, following her commands to fuck her harder and to fuck her faster, his fingers clenching around her hips so hard he knew there would be bruises in the morning, he felt pleasure mix with shame, felt like he was doing something wrong, like he was further breaking something that was already broken and there should have been another way.

But it was too late, because she was gasping in his ear, her back arching and her muscles tightening around him, and he was releasing inside her, and then he was collapsing onto the bed, pulling her over on top of him, still inside her. Neither of them moved for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds, and then she shifted, just slightly but enough that she could press her face into his bare chest. 

And then it happened, the only thing in the entire world that could probably be more fear-inducing than the sight of the Black Widow sitting on the bathroom floor with a knife pressed to her wrist: She started to cry.

It started out as one deep guttural sob, muffled because of her face pressed against his body, but he could feel the flush of warm stickiness against his skin and the way her body started to tremble. Instantly, his arms wrapped around her, his right palm splayed against her back. Her fingers dug into the soft flesh of his chest, and he heard her choke on her tears, but she didn’t turn her head.

Guilt, worse than before, soared through him, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He had never seen Natasha cry before. He’d never heard her cry before. He didn’t know anyone who had, except maybe Clint, but Clint wasn’t the type to tell. 

This beautiful, intelligent, deadly woman, whom he had burst in on without her permission, was naked, crying and vulnerable in his arms. 

_What had he done?_


	4. Chapter 4

She fell asleep hours before he did, although that wasn’t surprising. The sobs stopped as quickly as they started, but she didn’t move from where she was lying on his chest, and he didn’t move her until long after her breathing had deepened and her chest was rising and falling in a regular rhythm. Then carefully, he slipped her off him and tucked her under the blankets, heading to the bathroom to clean himself off, pull back on his boxers and move all weapons visible and hidden that he could find out to the kitchen, in case she woke up and decided to resume what she had started before he arrived. 

Even though they had slept together, they had never spent the night together before. Usually Natasha slipped out not long after they were finished, but there was no way he was going to leave her this time, so he slipped back in bed beside her, careful not to touch her but close enough that he could feel her if she decided to get up.

He didn’t know how long he watched her, staring at the way her mouth parted in a soft O, the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, but the sun was beginning to come up before he finally drifted off and it was still coming up when he woke again not too much later.

He was sitting on the couch getting tips on how to make the perfect soufflé from a brunette on the Food Network when Natasha wandered, still completely naked, out of the bedroom to find him.

“I thought maybe you had left,” she said, and her voice sounded a little raspy, but he suspected some of that was not entirely unintentional. 

“Go get dressed,” he said. “We need to talk.”

He turned his head to look at her, to meet her eyes. She stepped toward him, one hand on her hip, back arched slightly to push her breasts out. 

He didn’t flinch or look away. 

“Now, Natasha.”

“Or what?” She stepped closer. She was playing with him, slipping into the role of a character, trying to throw him off balance. But he had known there was a strong possibility she would fall back on that, and he was prepared. 

“Or you and I are going to have a nice long conversation with the rest of the team, Maria, Fury, Tony and Clint about what I caught you doing last night.” He dropped his eyes from hers to look pointedly at the scars on her abdomen and her left arm. 

“They wouldn’t care,” she said coolly, but she crossed her arms behind her back as she spoke.

“You really want to take that gamble?”

“I’ll tell them you had sex with me.”

“Half of them already know we’ve had sex before. Do you really think they’ll care?”

“I’ll leave. I won’t come back.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Steve didn’t blink.

“No, you won’t.”

This time, anger passed over her face. “I can take care of myself.”

Steve kept his eyes on her, but he forced himself to take a deep breath, to let it out slowly. Getting angry at her wasn’t going to help. She needed a friend, not someone to belittle her.

“Believe me, Natasha, I know,” he said. “You’re the most capable person I know — male or female. I just don’t think you want to leave.”

Her glare softened. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I think you want to ask me something. I think you’ve been trying to for a while, but for some reason, you’re scared. I think whatever happened last night is connected.”

She didn’t say anything to that, but she shifted a little.

“Go get dressed, Natasha. I’m not leaving till we talk about this.” He turned back to the TV. “And don’t even try sneaking out. I’ve already told Edwin to tell me if you do.”

He could feel, rather than see, her gape at him a little, but a few moments later, she turned around and disappeared down the hall. The door to the bedroom slammed behind her as she went inside.

•••

He had a stack of pancakes waiting for her on the kitchen table by the time she came back out. He knew she had purposely stalled, but he didn’t mind. Whatever she needed to tell him was obviously something she really didn’t want to talk about, and he wasn’t going to push her. He wasn’t going to leave until he got the truth, but if it took all day, he was okay with that.

She was dressed in jeans and a light blue hoodie, her hair down and slightly curled, still damp from the shower he’d heard her take. She looked young, far less than the thirty years she actually was.

And underneath her cool façade, she looked scared, too.

She eyed the plate of food on the table. “What’s this?”

“Most people call it breakfast.” He turned around to grab a coffee mug from one of the cabinets and filled it up with the pot he’d just brewed. He dropped in three spoonfuls of sugar, the way he knew she liked it, and handed it to her.

She took the coffee but she didn’t sit down. “Why?” she said.

“Because it’s morning and that’s what most people eat in the morning.” He raised a brow at her. She shook her head.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she clarified.

“You want me to be mean to you?”

She frowned. Steve pointed to the pancakes. “Sit. Eat.”

To his surprise, she complied without a fight. She slid into the chair and lifted the fork. He turned around to pour a cup of coffee for himself, then settled on the chair next to her.

“You don’t want to eat?” she asked, through a mouthful of pancakes.

“I did already.”

She nodded and took another bite. He contemplated what to do. He knew if she had her way, neither of them would ever mention last night again, but he couldn’t do that. Not after what he had seen. He had meant it when he had told her she was the most capable person he knew, and it killed him — and scared him — that something had happened to make her feel like she needed to put a knife to her wrist. Especially because he wasn’t completely sure what that thing was.

It wasn’t like Steve was a stranger to mental anguish or psychological trauma. He had seen a lot of things from his time at SHIELD and knew more people than he could count who had suffered through various ordeals. But Natasha …

He thought back to the months they’d first worked together as partners, to the days they spent together on the run, to the months they both lived in the Tower. He’d seen her in tank tops or doing training in a sports bra. 

With something close to confirmation, he realized, though, that since relocating to the bunker, all he’d seen her in was long-sleeved shirts or baggy hoodies or one of her uniforms.

So it had just started. Unless it had started years before he’d ever met her and just been on pause. Either way, he had a feeling he knew what that meant, though. Whatever Ultron had done to her, she wasn’t as okay with it as she proclaimed to be.

Natasha finished her last bite of pancakes. She put her fork down on her plate, and turned to look at him, her green eyes cool and unblinking. He had a feeling she was waiting for him to make the first move.

He took a deep breath. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

“So you said.”

“I know you don’t want to-”

“I’d rather not.”

“-and I’m not going to force you to-”

“Wait. What?”

“-but I’m not going to leave until you do.”

She blinked at him, clearly confused. He tried to explain. “As I said, I think there’s something you want to tell me. And I want you to tell me when you’re ready. So if you want to watch a movie or nap on the couch or tell me tonight once the sun has gone down, then that’s what we’ll do. But I am not letting you out of here, and I am not leaving either, until you do tell me, so if you want to wait for two weeks, I hope you’re okay with having a roommate.”

“Doesn’t the team need to be trained?”

“I’m sure they could use a break.”

“But what if Maria finds a Hydra cell to infiltrate before that two weeks is up?”

“Well, then I guess those guys just caught a lucky break.”

Her lips actually curved up at that. But then she turned serious again. “You’ll really tell them if I don’t tell you?”

Steve reached out, placed a hand on hers. He felt her tense, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m worried about you, Nat. Last night … well, last night scared me. All of it. You think you hide everything, but I know something’s wrong, and it’s been wrong for a few months now.” He squeezed her hand. “I just want to help you. And if you don’t let me, I’ll find another way, even if it means telling the others.”

She pulled her hand out from under his. “And what if I don’t want help?”

Steve lifted his cup of coffee and took another sip, finding her eyes and not looking away. “Well,” he said softly, “I think we’re past the point that it’s solely up to you.”

Natasha broke the stare first. She looked down at her lap. “I was taught not to ever need help.”

“Everyone needs help.”

“I’m not supposed to.”

“I won’t tell.”

She looked up, and Steve barely managed to contain a gasp. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “You promise if I tell you, you won’t say a word to anyone else?”

“As long as I don’t think you’re in imminent danger, then I promise, no one will know.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

Steve shrugged. “If I think there’s a chance you might try to kill yourself, I’m not keeping quiet.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know.” And he did. If Natasha had really been trying to commit suicide, she would never have let Steve take the knives away from her so easily.

“I just wanted it to stop.”

“You wanted what to stop?”

“Everything.” She dropped her eyes back to her lap.

“You want to talk to me about it?”

“Not yet.” She said it in a whisper. She didn’t look up.

Steve had to fight the strange urge he had to lean over and pet her on the head like she was puppy. Or a little girl. Instead he just said, “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

•••

It took twenty-four hours. For the most part, they did what Steve suggested. They sat on the couch and ate popcorn and watched movies. Natasha fell asleep halfway through the third one, so he covered her up with a blanket and went to make dinner.

An hour later, she stumbled into the kitchen, way less grace than normal, the hair on the right side of her head completely tousled, rubbed her eyes and mumbled, “You don’t have to take care of me.”

Steve handed her a plate of food and smiled. “I know.”

He offered to sleep on the couch that night, after he repeated that he wasn’t leaving, but she insisted he could sleep next to her in the bed.

“It’s not like you need to be worried about my virtue,” she said with a smirk.

“Natasha …”

The smirk turned into a glare, and he didn’t argue. Besides, it was easier to keep an eye on her if he was next to her.

The next morning he made them omelettes, and it was as they were eating them, sitting side-by-side on the couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table, watching repeats of America’s Next Top Model that she finally started talking.

“I thought when SHIELD fell that not having someone to work for would mean I could finally find myself. But the only thing it turned out to be is the opposite.”

Steve stopped moving, his fork halfway to his mouth. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye — her hands were in her lap and she was staring down at them, shoulders tense, body stiff — but he didn’t say a word, just waited for her to talk.

She paused for a second, and Steve saw her fingers flex a little. “When I was younger,” she said, and Steve had to concentrate on not audibly gasping. He had never heard Natasha even allude to her past in the Red Room before. He knew some of it, of course, from the report he was given on her before she became his partner and from things other people had told him, but she herself had never uttered a word. Until now. 

“There were very strict protocols for missions,” she continued. “We knew exactly what was considered a success. And if it wasn’t perfectly a success, then you failed. And you were punished.”

She stopped talking. Steve bit his tongue to stop himself from asking her to elaborate. He could tell from the way she was sitting that this was hard for her to talk about, and she owed him no details of what she’d gone through.

Her fingers in her lap had found the edge of her shirt, and she twisted it around them. Steve steeled himself for the rest of the conversation. He’d rarely even seen her fidget before either.

Finally, she started again. “Then went I went to SHIELD, it was the same. They were nicer about it, but I always knew what meant success and what meant failure, and when success didn’t happen-” She shrugged “-repercussions did.”

“What?”

This time, Steve couldn’t help himself. He turned to her, eyes wide. Repercussions? Sure, being scolded by Fury or feeling guilty for the death or injury of someone who didn’t deserve it were awful, but he had a horrible feeling that wasn’t what Natasha was talking about.

She lifted her head to look at him. To his astonishment, she was smiling slightly. “It’s okay, Rogers,” she said. “I asked for it.”

He blinked at her, the words having trouble registering. “You asked … to be punished?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I needed it.” She sounded like that was obvious, like he’d asked her why they’d given her clothes.

He wanted to ask her more, but Natasha dropped her eyes and went back to fiddling with her shirt. A ploy or not, he knew that was a sign she didn’t want to talk about it.

“Okay,” he said instead. “And now?”

She looked back up, her eyes roving over his face. “If I tell you, you promise you won’t judge me?”

That was easy. 

“I promise,” he said. “There’s nothing you could say to make me think less of you. I swear.”

She nodded. “Okay,” she said, and then she stopped again, like she was summoning her courage — or maybe just the right words. 

When she started again, her words came out slow. “I thought after SHIELD fell that things would be different. People kept asking me how it felt to be free — but I didn’t feel free. I felt …..” She paused again, a hesitation that encompassed so many seconds Steve had time to study every inch of her. “... lost.”

“You felt lost?” Steve repeated. Natasha nodded. 

“I tried,” she said. “To figure things out. I thought maybe if I was more normal, had a relationship, stopped fighting …” She shook her head and paused again, eyebrows scrunching, like she was looking for the right words. “And then Ultron happened. And Bruce left. And we came here, and it should be better because there’s a team, and it’s sort of like SHIELD again, except it’s not, but I still … I still feel lost.”

It was Steve turn to nod, trying to read between the lines of what she was telling him. “You feel lost because you don’t know how to define what makes something a success?”

“Because there isn’t anyone to give the orders,” she corrected. “And punishments.” She added the last part so softly he almost didn’t hear her, even though they were just inches apart.

She didn’t say anything else after that, just stared at him with those big green eyes. But Steve had a feeling he knew exactly what she was asking.

“You want me to do that?” he said. “To give orders?”

Natasha nodded.

“And, ummm,” he paused, hoping he really was reading this right, “punishment?”

She nodded again.

Okay, so he had interpreted it right. 

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” he told her honestly. “What kind of punishment exactly?”

She shrugged. “The other night was good.”

The other night … He stared at her. For a second, his mind went to the knife in her hand, pressing down on her wrist. And then he realized what she meant. 

“You want me to punish you … with sex?”

“Not just sex.”

“Dominant sex?”

She nodded. “It helped.”

He blinked at her. His mind spun. “Nat,” he said softly. “I want to help you. I do. But I don’t know if I can do that. If I can hurt you.”

“It’s not hurting me if I ask for it.”

“It’s still hurting you.”

“I need it.”

“Why me? Why not Clint?”

She smiled at that. “Clint’s married. I can’t ask him that. And even if I could, he and I, we work that way. And I …” She trailed off. For a second, he thought she was going to say she trusted him. “I just want it to be you,” she said instead.

Steve didn’t push her. He did run his hands through his hair, though, and sighed. “I need to think about this. Can I think about this?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, alright?”

“Okay.”

Steve climbed to his feet. Natasha remained where she was seated. Her head was bent just slightly so her hair covered most of her face. It struck him again how small she looked. How young.

Steve bent down, kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for telling me,” he told her softly. “I know that was hard.”

Natasha didn’t say a word as he walked across the room and out the door, leaving her behind.


	5. Chapter 5

They both made it down to dinner with the rest of the team that night.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” Sam smirked as Steve walked in. Natasha was already at the table, seated next to Rhodey, who was looking at her — and then him — with an odd expression. “You two too good for the rest of us?”

Steve feigned innocence. “Just needed a night to myself,” he said.

Sam turned to Natasha. She glared at him, a look even more intense than usual, and not one she usually directed in Sam’s direction. He took a step back, looking a bit hurt, but Steve could see the concern in his eyes when he glanced back over at Steve.

“Okay, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, I see,” he joked, trying to smile, but he didn’t say another word about it as he set his plate down beside her.

No one else said a word about their absence for the rest of the night, the talk turning to the team and Rhodey’s latest update on Tony, and for that, Steve was grateful. He tried to join in on the team talk, but he was much too distracted. He kept glancing over at Natasha, thinking about what she had asked him. He knew she wouldn’t have ever asked if it weren’t important — and in all honesty, he was afraid to say no. He knew, even without her saying it, that the reason he found her on the bathroom floor was because the pain was too much, and that was the only way she could find to deal with it, but he still didn’t know if he could do what she asked. If he wanted to do what she asked. 

He was a stranger to dom and sub relations. He’d never been in one, but he knew enough to know what they meant, but he had never been into that and he wasn’t sure he could be, even for her.

He glanced over at her again. She looked okay at a glance, but he knew the baggy sweatshirt she was wearing and the blank expression she was sporting hid a lot of secrets. And a lot of pain.

He also had a feeling that for as much as she had told him, she had also kept a few things back. He knew what she asked and what she confessed was real, but she had carefully avoided mentioning Ultron, avoided mentioning their conversation when she first woke up, how she had automatically thought she had failed. He had a feeling that had sparked more of this than any sense of unsureness since SHIELD had fallen, but if she wasn’t ready to deal with it, he knew he couldn’t push her.

And in the end, the decision he had to make didn’t hinge on the details, but on what she had asked and on what he was capable of giving her. 

He cared about her. He knew that much. Maybe more than cared about her. He wasn’t quite sure on that. But could he do what she asked? He honestly wasn’t sure.

•••

Steve made his escape early. If anyone wondered what was up, they thankfully didn’t let on. 

“Good evening, Captain Rogers,” Edwin said as he entered his own suite of rooms. “I was instructed to let you know there is a present for you in the kitchen.”

“There’s a present in the kitchen?” Steve frowned.

“Yes, Sir.”

Steve made sure the door was shut behind him and headed to the kitchen. A plain manila folder was sitting exactly center of his table. He picked it up, and his heart almost skipped a beat.

_Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna_

“Hey, Edwin. Who left this for me?”

“I was instructed not to say, Sir.”

Steve almost laughed at that. “Were you instructed not to say who _didn’t_ leave it?”

The AI almost seemed to pause. “I do not believe I was, Sir.”

“Great,” Steve said. “Then can you tell me if the males in this bunker didn’t leave it for me.”

“They did not, Sir.”

“How about Maria or Wanda?”

“No, Sir, not them either.”

Steve hadn’t thought so. “Thank you, Edwin. Have a good evening.”

“You, too, Sir.”

Steve stared back down at the file and took a breath. He wasn’t sure what was inside, but if she had left it for him, he almost figured it wasn’t going to be good.

He flipped it open and stared down at the two sheets of paper inside. It was an incident report, written and signed by one Agent Phil Coulson.

Steve scratched his head. What the heck?

He began to read.

_[10 Years Earlier]_

_The last thing Phil Coulson expected to find when he entered his office was a glaring Director Fury sitting in his chair. It had already been a horrible day — Agent Barton had been pretty seriously wounded during an otherwise successful mission and the paperwork from that alone was going to take him hours. He didn’t need anything else to complicated matters._

_“Didn’t expect to see you, Sir,” Coulson said, shutting the door behind him._

_“Where’s Romanoff?”_

_Coulson frowned at the director. “I thought she was with you. Debriefing.”_

_“She didn’t show up.”_

_“She what?”_

_“You heard me.”_

_Coulson sighed, ran a hand over his face. That wasn’t like Natasha to just not do what she was told._

_“She wasn’t with Barton?” Fury asked._

_Coulson shook his head. “I’ve been with him since we got back — he’s going to be fine by the way — but I haven’t seen Romanoff since I sent her off to you.”_

_“Well,” Fury said, getting to his feet. “I suggest you find her.”_

_•••_

_Turns out, finding a little redheaded assassin was not as easy as one might think. She wasn’t in her quarters, she wasn’t with Clint, they hadn’t seen her down in Outfitting._

_“Agent Coulson.” A voice sounded behind him. He turned to see Director Fury’s second-in-command looking pointedly at him._

_“Hill,” he nodded._

_“I think there’s something you might want to see.”_

_“Can’t it wait? I’m trying to find someone.”_

_“I know,” she said, and turned to walk away. Coulson followed her. Down a maze of halls and flights of stairs until she stopped in front of a training gym Coulson hadn’t known anyone still used. Looking in the window to the gym, his blood turned cold and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest._

_“I’ll leave you be,” Maria said, and then she was gone._

_Coulson opened the door and stepped inside. Natasha was seated almost in the exact center of the gym. Her legs were crossed and her back was straight. She didn’t move or even blink when he entered. Instead, she stayed as she was, her eyes staring at the pistol in her left hand — the pistol she had pointed at her head._

_“Natasha?” Coulson said softly. She still didn’t move. He took another step and called her name again. Still nothing. He repeated the process, moving closer and closer. When he was about five feet from her, he noticed something else. Her right sleeve was pushed up, and blood dripped from her arm on to the ground. He tried to remember if she had been wounded before they evacuated, but all he could remember was trying to stabilize Barton._

_One of her knives lay on the floor by her foot._

_Coulson moved even closer, finally stopping in front of her. Her eyes flickered upward._

_“Hi,” he said to her. She didn’t answer. “Can I join you?” He waved at the floor in front of her. He took her silence as consent and dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged to match her._

_He looked at the gun in her hand. She was holding it in her lap, almost like it was something she had just found and didn’t know what to do with, but her fingers rested over the trigger, and it unnerved him._

_He pointed to it. “Do you mind if I take that? It’s making me a little uncomfortable.”_

_She still didn’t answer, so he reached forward and plucked it from her hand. He knew she probably had at least five other weapons hidden on her body, but it made him feel better._

_“Barton’s going to be just fine,” he told her. Her eyes flickered at that. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”_

_Silence._

_Coulson forced himself to take a deep breath. He switched tactics._

_“Agent Romanoff,” he said, summoning the most commanding voice he could (even though he was sitting in front of her like they were sharing a picnic), “tell me what’s going on. That’s an order.”_

_She blinked, and Coulson saw something flash in her eyes. She opened her mouth and then stopped, like she was trying to decide what words to use. Finally, she shook her head slightly, and tried again._

_“Clint got hurt,” she managed to say this time._

_“Yes, he did,” Coulson replied. “He’s going to be just fine, though.”_

_“I failed.”_

_He frowned. “The operation was a success.”_

_“Clint got hurt,” she repeated. “I failed.” She was staring at him like this was obvious. He decided to go along with it._

_“Okay,” he said. “So you came here?”_

_“Punishment,” she said, and she frowned at him, like this should also be obvious._

_Coulson pointed to the slash on her wrist. “Is that punishment?” he asked her. She nodded. He pointed next to the gun. “Is putting a bullet through your head also punishment?”_

_She tilted her head, like she was thinking. “Do you want it to be?”_

_“No,” he answered automatically. He got to his feet, and reached down for her hand. “Come on, Natasha. We need to go somewhere.”_

_“Punishment, Sir?”_

_“Sure,” he said. “You can think of it as punishment.” He pulled her to her feet, picking up the gun and the knife from the floor and stuffing them in his pockets before she could. “Follow me,” he said, and he led her all the way to psych._

_•••_

_Forty-eight hours later, Coulson slid the papers across the desk to Fury._

_“They think because she was trained to expect punishment when she did something wrong that she’s now conditioned to the pain and without it she’s a little … unstable.”_

_Fury looked up. “Unstable?”_

_“Their words.”_

_“And they suggest we punish her?”_

_“They didn’t put it exactly in those words, but yes.”_

_“And you want to do this?”_

_“Agent Romanoff wants me to do this.”_

_“How exactly do you plan to punish her?”_

_Coulson frowned. “Well, I am not going to hit her, that is for sure.” He sighed, remembering what Natasha had told him. “But if she is required to spar with some agents who … aren’t exactly opposed to hitting her harder than they should … and she perhaps lets them, then how are we to stop that?”_

_Fury nodded. “This also suggests perhaps some time in isolation.”_

_“That too.”_

_“You know I’m going to tell you to do what you need to do.”_

_“I don’t like this.”_

_“I know. But I think you might like less a suicidal — or homicidal — former KGB assassin.”_

_“I’m only doing this until we can help her function in a healthier way.”_

_“Of course.”_

_Coulson got to his feet and headed to the door. Fury’s voice stopped him._

_“None of this goes in the official reports,” he said._

_Coulson looked back. “Of course not,” he said, and left the room.”_

•••

[Present Day]

It was after midnight when Steve knocked on Natasha’s door. She answered it right away, dressed in black sweats and a matching hoodie, her hair down and slightly tangled. She looked like she might have been sleeping.

“Hi,” he said. “Can I come in?”

She nodded and opened the door, stepping back to let him enter. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked. 

“No thanks.”

She pointed to the couch. “Do you want to sit?”

“Let’s sit in the kitchen,” he said. He wanted a position where he could face her, to see her better.

He followed her into the kitchen, and they both took seats across from each other at the table. He thought she looked slightly nervous, but it was hard to tell with her.

“I’ve thought about what you asked me,” he said.

“I figured.”

“The thought of it makes me really uncomfortable.”

Her head dropped. “Okay,” she said.

“I never done anything like it before,” he continued. He waited until she looked back up and met his eyes. “Have you?”

She nodded.

“Not as a mission or on assignment?”

She shook her head.

“But you think it will help?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

“If we do this, there needs to be some rules in place.”

She blinked at that, a flash of surprise across her face.

“Rule number one,” he said, “We only do this if it helps. If it doesn’t help, we stop. No questions asked. We never talk about it again.”

“Okay.”

“Rule number two: What happened the other night _never_ happens again. If you need help, if it hurts too much, you come to me — anytime, anywhere, no questions asked. Even if it’s not after a mission. No more knives. No more cutting. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“I need a verbal answer here, Natasha.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Okay.”

“Okay. Rule number three: I’m an old-fashioned guy. You know that. You tease me about it all the time.” — She smirked slightly at that — “That means that I believe that no means no. I don’t care what kind of fantasies or role-play you want to do, you say no, and I’m stopping.”

“Okay.”

“And we have a safe-word, too. Or red, orange, green. I hear people use those. Something we can both use.”

“Those are fine.”

“And rule number four — this one is important.”

She frowned.

“When we’re done, you don’t leave. Not until I know you’re okay. If it’s at night, you stay till morning. If it’s in the middle of the day, four hours minimum. Got it?”

“I got it.”

Steve placed his hands together on the table. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” she repeated.

He didn’t say anything else, just looked at her. A second later, her eyes widened.

“Okay?” she said, like she was testing him.

“Okay,” he said.

She closed her eyes for a second, then got to her feet. He stood up too. Before he could move, she’d flung herself at him, her hands wrapping around his neck, her head buried in his chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He wasn’t really sure if she should be thanking him — none of this was making him feel that great — but he tightened his arms around her anyway. She was his friend, and he needed to help her. He _would_ help her, and if this was the only way he could do it, then so be it.


	6. Chapter 6

**PART THREE**

For the next three days after Steve told Natasha he’d do what she wanted, he’d walked around feeling like his nerves had gone haywire. In a weird way, he knew he was doing the right thing, and he was glad she trusted him over anyone else. But the thought of what they were about to do was a little terrifying — he wanted to do it right, he wanted to give her what she needed, he wanted to take away the pain, but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was beginning to realize she meant far more to him than she probably should.

She needed someone to help her, to not judge her. She didn’t want a relationship or a boyfriend. He respected that and understood that, but once the line was crossed, once he could order her to do whatever he wanted her to do, would he still have enough self-control to keep that distance, to protect her without hurting her more? He didn’t know and he was terrified.

He spent a lot of his free time researching dom/sub relationships on the internet. He spent time talking to her too, clarifying what exactly she wanted, what she thought would help the most, what she wanted to try.

Sparring was good, she’d said. But nothing that could send her to the hospital ward, he’d added. Commands and orders were good. She’d feel better if she could call him sir, she’d said. Handcuffs were good. She said no to blindfolds. Not seeing what someone was doing to her would cause more issues than it would solve. 

She asked for spankings. He agreed to hand only, no whips. 

They left it at that for a start. They could go further later. It all still unnerved him, even with talks and a book and a plan. But he didn’t have too much time to ponder it. 

It had been a hard afternoon, for everyone. Sometimes when the new team trained, they all clicked, were all in sync, and sometimes when they trained, they were a mess. Today everyone was a mess. Rhodey knocked Sam out of the air, Sam unintentionally kicked Wanda, Wanda reacted without thinking and her powers hit Vision unintentionally. Vision was fine and no damage caused, but no one would have thought so judging by Natasha’s reaction. She yelled at Wanda for so long, the other girl was almost in tears, and Steve had to drag Natasha away by the arm.

He left Natasha in a corner, furious and shaking. He knew Wanda’s powers were a sore spot for Natasha in particular. She never had told him what she had seen that long ago day when they’d both become a victim of them, but he knew whatever it was had not been good. She’d been the most obviously affected by them, but he thought she’d come to accept Wanda since then.

But the fury that was practically radiating off of her told him otherwise.

He called an end to training early, sent everyone off to calm down and practice on their own and regroup in the morning.

“Hopefully the world doesn’t fall apart before morning,” he muttered to himself, waiting till they all left so he could lock the door behind them.

Then he turned to face Natasha and took a deep breath. He could tell by the look on her face what she needed, but he needed her to say it.

He walked across the gym toward her, stopped in front of her and crossed his arms. She was in a similar position, but he could see she was still shaking from rage. 

“New sort of training technique?” he asked her sharply.

“She’s not supposed to use her powers on other team members! It’s a rule!” Natasha bit at him immediately.

“It was an _accident_.”

“Accidents get people killed!”

“And that’s why we train. Because accidents in here are better than accidents out there. And Vision is fine.”

“What if it wasn’t Vision?”

“You mean, what if it was you?”

The rage almost instantly went out of Natasha. Her hands dropped to her sides and she sank to the floor, landing on her knees. Her head dropped. 

Steve bent down in front of her. He had known Natasha had been putting on a front the last couple days, had been trying to give him space before putting their agreement into effect. He had a feeling she was almost as nervous about it as he was, but if they were going to do this, she had to be able to tell him when she was feeling off. 

“I know things are hard right now, Nat. And I know this really isn’t just about Wanda messing up,” he said softly. “But I’m here, okay? You can tell me what you need.”

She looked up at him. She didn’t look angry now, but almost sad. “I was supposed to help defeat Ultron,” she said softly.

He blinked. He hadn’t expected that to come out of her mouth. Not that he was surprised by the words. The scars on her arms told him that it was the Ultron encounter that had knocked her off balance in the first place, but he hadn’t honestly expected her to admit it. Or admit some part of it anyway. She hadn’t, after all, when she had asked him for help.

“You did help defeat him,” he reminded her.

“I let Wanda get into my head,” she said. “And I couldn’t get her out. I lost focus, and then he had me. And you came to save me, when you should have been saving the world.”

“We did save the world.”

“But people died. Pietro died. Wanda lost her brother.”

Steve tilted his head. “Pietro didn’t die because we saved you, Natasha. He died saving a child.”

“But if I had been there …” She paused.

“But if you had been there what?” She looked down again, and he frowned at her. “It should have been you?” he asked, filling in the blanks.

“I have a lot of red in my ledger,” she whispered. “He’s an innocent kid.”

“Natasha …”

“You should have let him kill me.”

Steve reached out, wrapped his fingers around her arm, tightly, enough to bruise. She looked up, eyes wide.

“No,” he said forcefully. “We shouldn’t have.”

Part of him wanted to keep her talking, wanted to see if she would tell him what she remembered about Ultron keeping her captive — how could he help her heal if she never told him the truth? — but the woman in front of him wasn’t the Natasha he knew. She was the woman in the bathroom with the knife to her wrist, making cuts on her arms, because she didn’t know what else to do.

Steve stood, yanking Natasha to her feet along with him. He waited until she was steady, then let go of her wrist to put his hands on her upper arms, to look her straight in the eye. 

“Tell me this is really what you want,” he said lowly, and he knew she understood what he was asking. A glimmer of what almost looked like relief flashed across her face.

“Yes, please,” she said.

“If you say no, we’ll stop. You remember the rules?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, please.”

He didn’t answer. He tightened his grip on her arms and spun them both in a half circle, so her back was to the training mat, then he shoved her a little harder than necessary backward. She stumbled but remained upright.

“Then let’s spar,” he said. “Show me what you got.”

Immediately she crouched down, arms up, getting into position. He eyed her coolly. “I didn’t hear you answer.”

“Yes,” she said quickly.

“Yes?” he repeated, raising his voice just a little.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

He walked over to the far corner of the room to grab his shield, then made his way back to the training mat, standing across from her. He didn’t even bother to get into position, wanting her to make the first move. He had promised her if they did this that he wouldn’t go easy on her. Not that he didn’t think she could hold her own against him. She more than could, but he was stronger than her and had far more stamina, and this was what she wanted.

She raced straight at him, not even trying to fake him out. He knocked her easily to the ground, his shield connecting with her chest. She slid backward a few feet before scrambling to her feet.

“Do better,” he told her.

“Yes, Sir.”

She raced again, this time dodging the shield and sliding under it through his legs. He knew exactly what she was trying to do, though, and turned just in time, his shield again colliding against her body, knocking her to the ground before she could leap on him.

“You aren’t trying,” he told her.

“I am,” she huffed, getting back to her feet.

“Don’t lie to me, Romanoff, or you will be punished.” He paused. “Do you want to be punished, Romanoff?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“No,” she said, out loud this time. “Sir. No, sir.”

“Then I want to see you try.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She crouched again. This time, Steve backed up and matched her position, but she had taken him at his word. She was off before he could even blink, using his shield as a stepping stone to launch herself into the air, landing on his back, her legs quickly going around his neck, squeezing. 

Steve dropped the shield, reached up to grab her.

She was locked around him, her thighs solid against him, squeezing hard. He spun around, flung himself backward, taking them both to the ground.

She gasped as she hit the ground hard, her thighs momentarily loosening, but it was all he needed. He grabbed her legs and yanked, pulling her down over his head until he could lock his arms around her stomach. Her food struck him in the leg, her elbow hitting him in the gut as she struggled in his arms, but he didn’t let go of her, instead rolling them both over, using his weight and his strength to lock her underneath his solid bulk.

She went still then, facedown on the floor, probably searching for a way out, but he kept his weight pressed down on her, pushing her into the floor.

He reached into the pocket of his suit, pulled out the glittering silver handcuffs she had left on his bed the day after they’d discussed it — he hadn’t asked her where they’d come from — and lifted himself off her just enough to grab her wrists and cuff them together behind her back.

“Natasha,” he said, because she still hadn’t moved and her face was still pressed into the floor. “Do you know what’s going to happen now?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice muffled by the ground.

Okay, good, so she was still with him. Steve felt a small wave of relief.

“And what is going to happen now?”

“Punishment, Sir.”

“Do you deserve to be punished, Natasha?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why do you deserve to be punished?”

“Because I yelled at Wanda.”

Steve had been certain she was going to say because she’d failed with Ultron. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that it wasn’t what she’d said.

“Okay,” he said. “Then let’s get started.”

Steve lifted himself up off her, and took a moment to let everything fully sink in. There was going to be no going back now. Once they did this, the relationship they had had, it was going to be forever altered, changed by a secret that was going to be theirs alone.

He looked at Natasha, still lying facedown on the floor, her hands cuffed behind her back. It was hard to be certain, but he thought she seemed tense. Her breathing was slightly shallower than was normal for her.

She was dressed for training, in black yoga pants and a matching long-sleeved black shirt. Her feet were bare. She’d told him it was because it helped her balance when she wasn’t hindered by shoes, but it didn’t escape him that it made this easier.

He took another deep breath and steeled himself one more time, reminding himself once again that this was what she wanted, what she needed — someone to take control, someone to tell her what she could and couldn’t do, someone who could inflict a little bit of pain to take away the pain she was inflicting on herself, to help ground her, to help her find herself. 

He grabbed the waistband of her yoga pants and yanked them down her legs, taking her underwear with them. He pulled her pants and underwear off her legs and tossed them aside. Her ass and legs were creamy white, no signs of the cuts or scars he’d seen on her arms and her belly.

He adjusted her hands, so they were in the middle of her back and out of the way, before he smoothed his hand across her ass, feeling the soft, fleshy skin.

He had never spanked anyone before in his life, and Steve cringed when he brought his hand down the first time, the slap seeming to echo into every corner of the training room. Natasha’s breath hitched, but other than that, she made no sign that it bothered her.

Steve moved his hand, stared at the slight redness already forming. Finally, he forced himself to look away, at the back of her head, at the red curls that were stuck together due to sweat, at the perspiration on the back of her neck, at the way her fingers curled around each other as they lay on her back, her wrists locked in the cuffs.

“How many spankings do you think you deserve, Natasha?” Steve managed to ask. His voice sounded odd, a little tight. 

“As many as you think, Sir,” Natasha answered, not missing a beat. For a second, Steve wondered if they had hit her in the Red Room, if punishments were with hands or whips or something worse.

He shook his head to block out the thought, to focus on the _now_. She wanted this. It was okay.

“We’ll start with ten,” Steve said. “You count.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said. “Was that one?”

“No,” he said. “That was a freebie.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He smoothed his hand back down over her ass, traced over the faint red blotch he had left there a few moments before. Then he lifted his hand and brought it down again.

It was harder this time, the sound louder. Natasha gasped before she managed a “One.”

He spanked her again.

“Two.”

And again.

“Three.”

It got easier as he went, his hand finding a rhythm and a more comfortable position. Natasha squirmed once, on the seventh one, but otherwise she remained perfectly still. He noticed, though, that despite the pain, she actually seemed to have relaxed more.

“Last one,” he said to her, after she’d told him, “Nine.”

“Ready, Sir,” she said.

Steve put an extra touch of strength into the final spanking, just enough so it would sting a little bit more. He heard Natasha suck in a breath, but her “Ten,” didn’t sound any less comfortable than her other countings had been.

He rubbed his hand over her reddened flesh when he was done, her skin hot under his touch, trying to formulate how it made him feel. Pleased that she seemed to be doing better, a little weirded out by what he’d just had to do, even more weirded out by the fact that he almost thought he liked it.

Part of him wanted to turn Natasha over, talk to her about it, but they weren’t done yet, and he couldn’t take her out of the scene now. He also couldn’t stop before he gave her the pleasure he wanted to give her. Leaving her in pain was the last thing he wanted, even if it was what she wanted.


End file.
